Healing Magic of the Dark
by Breieden
Summary: Just what I thought might happen if the Hessian Horseman was saved a moment before his beheading. Contains both the magic of elves and the gruesome reality of humanity. Rated T to be safe. This is also my first fanfic...bleh.
1. Prologue

_The earth trembled, thunder rumbling through the ground. Razor hooves pounded into the frozen landscape, clumps of dismal brown flecking the stark white of snow in sharp contrast. Muscles rippled beneath a sleek, midnight pelt; sweat foaming and slithering down the arched neck and flanks. Nostrils flared and ears laid back into a silken mane. Crafted leather boots urged the great beast onward; cruel, spiked spurs lightly touching the sensitive flesh with urgency. A sudden 'bang' shattered the crisp, winter air. Several pained whinnies erupted from the seasoned charger; his legs becoming stiff as white-hot agony coursed throughout his body. The rider, now sprawled across the snow, quickly overcame the light fog in his head, and crawled towards his fallen steed. Icy-blue eyes stared unbelieving at the scarlet blood, seething from a gruesome hole in the stallion's thick neck. A gloved hand, the very one that had taken so many lives, reached out and gently stroked the horse's neck in a rare act of compassion. Another gunshot resounded through the air, followed by shouts. The hunter had become the hunted._

Glancing at the distant, ever enclosing forms of his pursuers, the horseman grudgingly left his faithful companion's side and bolted for the dark forest. Shadowy trees swallowed him whole, ghostly wind whispering past his ear in a foreboding chant. Suddenly, panicked steps faltered and heels dug into the powdery, white snow. Two small figures, pale skin contrasting to the light pink dresses that enveloped their minuscule bodies, stared wide-eyed. The young girls were both fair haired, most likely twins. The Hessian sighed with relief, perhaps they could hide him. Raising a gloved finger to his lips, he hissed in the universal sign to stay quiet.

"Shh."  
One girl, cold eyed and stoney faced, unlike her companion, snapped the brittle stick in her small hands with a resounding 'crack'. The sound seemed to shatter the very air, echoing through the brambles and scraggly trees. The second child dropped the pile of debris and small branches held in her thin arms, running in the other direction.

Bellowing a great war-cry, the mercenary spun on his heel and deflected a blow from the sword of an American soldier; gutting the fool swiftly and turning his attention onto the next opponent. A blade crafted of steel sang through the air, its deadly edges greedily severing a head from it's body, then rending an unfortunate arm at the elbow. Several more blue-coats fell, their heads rolling on the cold earth. Raising both arms to prevent a lightly rusted longsword from splitting his skull in two, the horseman failed to notice another soldier behind him. Sharp, fiery pain erupted from his spine, and coursed throughout his body. The air catching in his throat, the once great menace fell to his knees, gasping for each labored breath. The coward whom hadn't been man enough to face his enemy snatched the sword thickly coated with the blood of his comrades, and raised it high above his head. Wild eyed, the American soldier felt a prickling of smugness tugging at him. pausing to savor the moment of triumph before finally defeating his foe, unknowing that such obnoxiousness would cost him dearly.  
An oblivion of blood and bone tore from a stout neck, pale and reddened skin bursting into the equivalence of torn, blood soaked paper. Several sharp, low whistles cut through the chill air, the remaining blue-coats falling where they stood. Cold, blue eyes hazily glanced towards the still bodies, falling upon the eerie messengers of death. Arrows. The soft crunch of footfalls drew him from fevered thoughts, evoking an animalistic snarl and the feral barring of sharpened teeth. A strange figure emerged from the shadows, but stopped just beyond his fuzzy, red-hazed vision. The shape slowly took a step forward. The Hessian snarled once more, reaching for his sword instinctively, but fell onto his side as searing pain shot through his rigid body. He was vulnerable, and that frightened the horseman. Two things he had not experienced in many, many years. The form cautiously walked forward, kneeling an arms length away from the fallen mercenary. It reached out, long arms snaking around his waist, careful to avoid the deep, seething wound torn across his back. He suddenly found himself being lifted, the strange being's movements gentle and deliberate. A shrill, piercing sound suddenly erupted from, what he assumed, was keeping his limp and weakened body from hitting the ground. Something came from deep within the trees, a gentle whisper that tickled his pale skin. Was it a whinny? No, he had to be delusional. The soldiers did not have horses, and Daredevil was sprawled across the snow in some god forsaken field, a bullet in his neck. Oh, how wrong he was.  
Another strange form appeared through the trees, but it was much, much larger. Everything was a strange form, now. Every tree, every snowflake, even his own nose that sat proudly just under icy eyes, was nothing more than a blurry, misshapen thing. The odd feeling of being slung over something warm and queerly shaped overcame him. The heavy, delicious scent of sunlight, snow and sweat filled his nostrils. Horse. This was most definitely a horse. The Hessian found himself righted, and it seemed he was sitting in a saddle, long appendages around his waist to grasp what seemed to be the reins. A weird, musical word drifted from somewhere close to his ear, hot breath tickling his chilled skin. The supposed horse, turning sharply beneath the two riders, lunged forward and sped through the thick brambles and thicket of trees with lithe agility.  
The stinging sensation of winter air cut at pale skin, whipping unruly, black hair into a mass of tangles and cow-licks. Suddenly, as if his eyes had opened for the first time, everything came into sharp focus. Wind stung at eerily blue eyes, dead brush reaching out like bony, ghostly hands to claw at frozen flesh. They broke from the restraining grasp of the forest, and found themselves in an enclosed, snowy clearing. A broad, ice encased wall of rock towered high above the riders, reaching for the clouded sky. The horseman took in his surroundings with keen, warrior's eyes. He was sitting in a finely crafted saddle of what seemed to be white leather, but more importantly, astride a bleached steed. Its pert ears swiveled back, then to the sides, listening for any impending danger. A gentle, velvet voice said another queer word. A bright light glowed from beneath a blanket of snow and ice, creating an ornate arch covered with intricate designs that meshed together formed the illusion of ivy, then plunging horses, but became the twisting forms of noble dragons. The markings shimmered and seemed to move, always changing. Strange, elegant writing slowly formed, eerie whispers snaking their way from the ivory doors that opened from the sheer cliff face. Watching with both curiosity and slight agitation, the Hessian wondered briefly who lived beyond such gates, and the identity of the being that sat behind him. A silent signal seemed to pass from the hidden rider to the horse, for it whinnied gleefully and pranced forth; head held proudly and neck arched as it traveled through the mystical gate.


	2. Chapter 1: Strange Place

Ancient pillars loomed in the shadows, carved runes coming to life as flickering firelight danced across the smooth, dark surfaces. Long, bright tongues of flame licked at the air, the stone cradles of fire running along the enchanted walls. Haunted light glowed as shadows danced across the chamber. Several agonized groans echoed into the darkness, it's origin slumped against a cold wall. Pale, elegant fingers gently pried armor from tormented flesh. Lips pulled back to bare filed teeth, cruelly pointed and demonic. An animalistic growl rumbled from the depths of a broad, finely toned chest. Blue, supernatural eyes squinted with pain. The pale hands continued to strip the bloodied armor from the Hessian, and his black, cotton shirt thereafter. The absorbent fabric had been caught in the wound as the blood dried, and required a swift but gentle tug to release the reddened flesh.

Fresh blood trickled down his back; warm and reeking of a familiar, metallic scent. One long-fingered hand rested on his shoulder, preventing the horseman from swiveling at the waist. The other hand, gentle but strong, smeared something thick and cool into the deep wound. Withered nerve endings and ruptured veins reconnected, torn ligaments and severed tissue knitted back together. The mercenary lashed out, a new, sudden surge of agony finally setting him into a red-hazed fury. But before he could spin around and lunge at whomever was causing such distress, the man found his face pressed against the cold stone floor, a heavy weight bearing down just below his lower back. This strange person was sitting on him! Squirming, the Hessian tried to flip himself over and pin this strange being to the ground, but failed miserably. His strength dissipated in a sudden wave of nausea, and fell back to the expertly crafted slabs of black granite.

A light, feathery sigh tickled his ear, sending an electrified shiver down his spine. Then the weight was gone, along with the fiery pain in his back. It was as if no blade and entered his body. A slight, cunning smirk twitched at the corners of the horseman's lips. Now he could finally see this ever elusive entity, and hopefully, find a way from that cursed place.

But once again, the mercenary was outmatched. Just as he spun smartly on his heel, a fist slammed into his face, and everything went black... 

Clouded eyes fluttered open, an icy gaze meeting the warm light of a dwindling fire. Groggily, the man ran his long, spindly fingers through his unruly mass of black hair and sat in the silken covers. Thick, vibrant tapestries cloaked each wall; scenes of past battles, great hunts and long forgotten warriors depicted upon the woven fabrics. A large, arching fireplace and mantle made of white, glittery stone sat in the middle of one wall; an earthly brown bear rug stretched before it. Swinging his legs over the side of the large bed, he paused for a moment, recollecting the past events that had taken place. A soft, deerskin rug lay on the wooden floor as well, its gentle brown and white coloring suggestive of a young buck. Glancing around the spacious room, he noticed that the wooden boards were polished and worn smooth by countless steps, unlike the floors he had seen in rich men's houses; sanded to a shiny polish by carpenters. Cautiously, the Hessian tread across the room, and slowly opened the door. Poking his head out, his eyes eyes met a grand hallway, lit by medieval torches and carpeted with fine fabrics. Slipping through the doorway, he stealthily made his way down he hallway; a silent shadow amongst fallen gods. Not a single door graced the stone walls, nor did any passageway that might lead away from that haunted place. The man walked for what seemed like hours, the damned hall never ending. Something dark loomed ahead, pinned against the cold grey granite. Slinking into the shadows, he watched the form, never blinking, lest it should move. But it did not. The dark blob just.... stood there. Gritting his teeth, the mercenary crept forward, lithe muscles twitching with form rose toward the ceiling, it's dark surface carved and polished. A door. It was merely an oak door. Berating himself for being so foolish, he grasped the ivory handle and turned it. Slowly opening the door, the man paused for a moment, absorbing everything into his memory.

Animal skins littered the floor, both familiar and exotic. Some he was not certain were even animals. Instead of the torches that hung on the stone walls of the hallway, orbs of light floated in the air; casting gentle light upon everything. Elegantly crafted furniture decorated the large chamber, ranging from the darkest Ebony to the palest Holly. A large, delicately crafted canvas bed of white ash stood at the farthest wall, it's broad head-board pushed up against the glittering stone. For lack of armor, the German stalked cautiously toward one side of the bed, flinching slightly when the silver sheets moved. A hand sheathed in skin of creme and silk protruded from the mass and pillows and blankets, flopping carelessly over the edge of the mattress. Stealing up the shallow steps, he carefully weaved through the thin, luminescent curtains that hung from the canopy. Hesitating for a moment, the man wondered briefly what could possibly lay beneath the swaths of silver. Gripping the soft, smooth envelopment, the horseman flipped them back with a yank. Wide, night grey eyes stared up into electrified blue irises.


End file.
